


make me say your name

by feeltripping



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blindfolds, Bottom Lexa, Breathplay, Collars, Dom Clarke, F/F, Face-Sitting, Finger Sucking, Light Dom/sub, Light Service Top Lexa, Power Bottom Clarke Griffin, Praise Kink, Sub Lexa, Subspace, Table Sex, Vaginal Fingering, crawling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 14:09:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7979536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feeltripping/pseuds/feeltripping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa and Clarke: kink negotiation, supportive girlfriends, hot sex. </p><p>(fill for several prompts: collaring, blindfolds, crawling, breathplay, facesitting. Has service top Lexa and d/s bottom Lexa/top Clarke.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	make me say your name

**Author's Note:**

> hope this was everything prompters dreamed of <3~

“I don’t know.” Clarke frowns at the screen. “You actually bought this?”

“The internet is a wonderful place, Clarke.” Lexa’s voice is forcibly light, and she’s visibly nervous. She hunches behind her book, hiding. “And I didn’t buy it. I just… marked it.”

“C’mere. Talk to me.”

Lexa breathes out a sigh, putting her book aside and sliding close to cuddle into Clarke’s side. “You know we… how we promised, to talk to each other? And… ask for stuff?”

Clarke kisses her, fond. “Yeah.” She licks her lips. “You have something to tell me?”

“I think about,” Lexa says, hesitant. She stops, swallows. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Nothing about us is embarrassing,” Clarke reassures. 

Lexa flushes. “I think about crawling for you,” she says, low. “To you.” She touches her throat, long slender fingers. “Your hand here, squeezing.”

Clarke thinks her heart might actually stop for second. “Holy shit,” she chokes. 

Lexa’s eyes flick up. “Bad?” she asks, starting to draw away.

Clarke catches her by the wrist. “Give me a minute, I think I just came.” Lexa shifts again, still frowning, clearly uncomfortable. “Hold on, I’ll tell you one. Then we’ll be even, right?”

“Okay,” Lexa says, tucking her feet under her. She noses at Clarke’s shoulder. “Tell me.”

“Remember when you fucked me on the table?”

Lexa’s eyes glaze over. “Yeah.”

Clarke grins, her tongue between her teeth. “It’s hard to even look at it now. I just think about you, pushing me down, taking me from behind.” Lexa makes a noise, deep in her throat. “I think about you on top of me.” She touches a finger to Lexa’s lip and Lexa kisses her fingertip. “Riding my face.”

Lexa pitches into her. “Jesus,” she says, kissing Clarke and dragging her teeth down to the dipping neckline of her shirt. “Take off your clothes.”

“What? I want to talk about your thing.” Clarke giggles when Lexa ignores her, sucking into her throat with a hungry noise. 

“Do you?” Lexa asks, teasing and low. “Or do you want to lie down on our dining table and make it hard to host Thanksgiving at ours this year?”

“That,” Clarke mutters, fervent, “let’s do that.”

 

“Harder,” Clarke gasps against Lexa’s thigh. She grips Lexa’s ass in both hands, hard. “Please.”

Lexa is hunched over, her arms braced on the table, Clarke’s legs dangling off the end with Lexa’s center wet and dripping over her nose. “Don’t wanna hurt you,” she mutters.

“Come on Lex,” Clarke says, licking up and through her with a soft broad swipe. “Give it to me.”

Lexa snorts, shaking faintly with laughter, and Clarke reaches up to flick a nipple. Lexa’s snicker turns into a moan, and her hips come down hard before she tries to retreat. Clarke urges her, pulling hard, and Lexa sinks down with a shudder, her thighs squeezing against Clarke’s ears. Clarke closes her eyes, breathing deep. She loves this, every sense saturated with Lexa; her sweat and her cunt and her pulse thumping wildly, her sounds rumbling through her body and against Clarke’s lips, her tongue, her skin. 

Lexa floods against her, dripping down Clarke’s chin as she tries to drink her deep. Lexa lists sideways, slipping off Clarke’s face and lying on her side on the table beside her, panting and trembling. “Oh,” she manages, and a drowsy smile spills across her face. “You look wrecked,” she murmurs, wiping at Clarke’s mouth. 

“I am,” Clarke growls. She spares a brief thought of thanks that their table is quite large, large enough she can flip Lexa on her back, hard, and shove her way between Lexa’s legs. “Wrap your legs around me,” she orders, and Lexa does, a beat slower than she might usually, her orgasm slowing her thought process, her muscle response. Clarke presses them down on the table, ignoring the twinges of pain from the tabletop on her knees and elbows. Clarke drops her weight, knocking Lexa hard down, and moans at the contact, pressed close. 

“Clarke,” Lexa says, her legs rising to lock around Clarke’s ribcage. Clarke hammers her down, grinding sloppy and rough, and Lexa makes encouraging noises, her hands scrabbling at Clarke’s back. Clarke tucks a hand under Lexa’s head, sacrificing her knuckles for harder, rougher thrusts.

 

“We need a new table,” Clarke pants, lying limp and sated over Lexa’s body. “I can’t ever see my mom sit at this table.”

“We have Pledge,” Lexa mumbles. Her eyes droop. “Lemon,” she mumbles. “An’... and pine.”

Clarke pokes her. “We’re not sleeping on this fucking table, it’s uncomfortable as fuck.”

“Carry me,” Lexa demands.

“This was your idea,” Clarke says. “ _You_ should carry _me_.”

“Mm.” Lexa yawns and then curls towards Clarke, nosing over for a kiss. She pauses and goes cross-eyed, looking at a streak of wetness on the tabletop; maybe Clarke’s, maybe Lexa’s, hard to tell. “Messy,” she mutters, and then licks the table clean, long and slow.

“Fuck,” Clarke says, mouth hanging open. “Carry me to bed, I want to eat you out again and fuck your mouth with my fingers.”

Lexa’s eyes go sharp. Clarke doesn’t know if she’s ever seen her move so fast.

++

Clarke wakes up with Lexa’s mouth on her chest, lapping at her nipple and biting gently. “I’m sleeping,” she mumbles.

“Nobody told you to wake up.” Lexa nips the underside of her left breast, sharp pinpricks of her teeth. “I’m okay with you being asleep. You’re not needed for this.” She switches to the right side, humming pleased to herself.

“Too late. I’m awake.” Clarke tugs Lexa up to kiss her properly, grimacing at her own mouth, dry from sleep. “I’m horny.”

“Hi horny,” Lexa mumbles against her chin, and Clarke bites Lexa’s bottom lip, hard.

“Don’t you fucking start with that shit joke.”

Lexa rubs a thumb against Clarke’s clit over her underwear, making her breath catch. “What should I start with, then?” She presses a thigh between Clarke’s legs and rocks, hard.

Clarke bites her lip. “That’s good,” she says, pitched high, “good place to start.”

“Flip over,” Lexa urges, nudging at her sides. 

Clarke rolls onto her belly, fisting her hands in the rumpled sheets. “Fuck,” she mumbles, humping against the mattress, rising her ass high then grinding down hard. 

Lexa pushes her down. “Me first,” she whispers into Clarke’s ear. “I woke up earliest.” Clarke groans, lightly protesting, then cries out, soft, when Lexa’s hips come down on the back of her thigh, her knee pressed firm to Clarke’s center. Lexa pants in her ear, ragged, then moans. “I’m already so close,” she murmurs against Clarke’s cheek. “So wet from watching you wake up under me.”

“Jesus Christ,” Clarke gasps, biting at the sheet. She squirms, Lexa pinning her down like a bug on a pin, and spreads her legs as wide as she can, pleading. 

“Facedown,” Lexa says, gravelly, and closes her teeth on the back of Clarke’s neck.

Clarke rolls her face into her pillow, breathing wet and drooly. “Please,” she tries to beg, and it comes out muffled and incoherent. Lexa humps her, hard, and rocks, rolling her body and murmuring filth in Clarke’s ear. 

“So wet. Making a mess of our sheets. You gonna soak through to the mattress cover, baby?” Clarke whines, desperate, and feels Lexa’s grin against her shoulderblade. “I love you.” Lexa kisses the top of her spine, gentle, then rakes both hands down her spine, drawing blood with her nails. Clarke shouts, arching up, and meets Lexa bearing her back down. She shudders, rocketed into her orgasm, and collapses into a limp shuddering mess, barely cognizant of Lexa riding her thigh, bowed, her face pressed into the bright red marks scratched into Clarke’s back.

She feels Lexa’s fingers, fumbling across her ass, her thighs, the small of her back, before they slip inside, thrusting in time with Lexa’s hips, and Lexa crooks them, merciless even as Clarke flinches away, her yelp dragging into a sharp surprised cry as she crests again, writhing as soon as Lexa finds her clit and pinches, hard. “Fuck,” she chokes, “I can’t--”

Lexa pulls out and drags Clarke up to her knees. “One more,” she murmurs against Clarke’s skin. Her tongue slips inside, thrusting alongside three fingers, stretching and rolling, and Clarke sobs, Lexa’s arm around her thighs keeping her propped up. Lexa’s fingers disappear, her tongue still working, and Clarke looks, over her shoulder, to see Lexa’s face buried against her, her nose nudging into her ass, one hand pressed between her own legs. Clarke’s eyes roll back into her head.

 

She comes back to herself, her cheek smeared with drool and wet fabric, her legs still splayed open, obscene. Lexa is licking at her, careful and light, cleaning her up. Clarke shivers, violent. “Please,” she mumbles, and hardly recognizes her own voice. 

Lexa wiggles up the bed to kiss her, drool and all. “Okay?”

Clarke wants to wrap an arm around her but she just twitches once before giving up. “Yeah. C’mere?”

Lexa props herself half up against the headboard and helps Clarke flop into her lap, the sheets pooling around their flushed skin. She tucks Clarke’s sweat dripped hair behind her ear. “Love you,” she says, and yawns. “Nap?”

“Yeah,” Clarke says again, drifting a little. Lexa kisses her forehead once, sweetly.

++

Lexa sits in the passenger seat, arms crossed. “You tricked me,” she accuses. 

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Yes. I texted you our destination, arranged a time, picked you up, asked if you’re sure, and then drove forty miles, and you’ve only just now realized where we are. I’m a monster.”

“Your face is a monster.” Lexa slides low in the seat, like she’s trying to avoid prying eyes, and Clarke rolls her eyes again.

“Remember when I thought you were very composed and mature all the time?” Clarke pokes her in the ribs, teasing and serious all at once. “You wanna go, baby?”

“Don’t call me that,” Lexa says, sharp. Clarke blinks at her. Then she turns the engine over. “What are you doing?”

“You don’t want this,” Clarke says, firm. “We’re going home. Pick up something to eat along the way.” She picks Lexa’s hand up from where it’s clenched into a fist in her lap and links their fingers over the gear shift. “That Italian place you like. With those gross garlic things that make you emo.”

Lexa makes an offended, high pitched noise. “ _Emo_. Clarke, please. They’re just very… indulgent.” Clarke just smiles at her, feeling a little indulgent herself, and shifts the car into reverse. “Wait,” Lexa says. Clarke stills, her foot on the brake. Lexa exhales. “Sorry. I’m. Nervous, a little.”

Clarke rubs between her knuckles, soothing. “We don’t have to. It’s okay.” She lets her foot lift and the car rolls back, slow.

Lexa’s jaw sets, stubborn. “I’m not afraid.” She cranks the door handle, shoving it open, and Clarke rushes to slam on the brake, shove the car into park.

“Jesus--” Lexa shuts the door on Clarke’s yelp, walking determinedly up the sidewalk towards the storefront.

Clarke catches up to her just outside the shop’s door. “Ready?” Lexa asks, and Clarke takes her hand, kissing her once before they go inside.

 

They wander the aisles, Clarke waving aside the offer of assistance from the cashier, hands linked as they pause, once in awhile, to bend and squint at the shelves. Clarke lingers in front of the display of plugs, casting Lexa a look from lowered lashes. Lexa flushes, pretty, and there’s no one else in the aisle so Clarke kisses her, deep and dirty. “C’mon,” she says, and leads Lexa by the wrist, her fingers looped in a loose but firm circle.

Clarke finds what they came for, hanging from hooks and gleaming. Clarke reaches up, letting her fingers trail past one, then another, until she pauses at a hook and Lexa’s pulse thumps against her fingers, quick. Clarke slips the collar free and pulls Lexa close, lays the leather across Lexa’s throat, stretched flat across her fingers. “Looks good on you,” she murmurs. “You like?”

Lexa’s throat works, the metal buckle nudging into her skin as she swallows. She trembles. Clarke squeezes her hand, reassuring. “There’s a loop here,” she continues, still low and rough, fingering it absently. “Could sleep a leash in, lead you around. You still wanna crawl for me, baby?”

Lexa crowds her, nuzzling her face into Clarke’s neck. “Clarke,” she sighs, leaning her weight into Clarke’s shoulder. Someone in the next row drops something, clanging, they curse as they scoop it up. Lexa flinches, and when she rears back her eyes flick around, dazed. She steps slightly away, hunching in on herself, looking guarded and a little confused. 

Clarke pulls her back, tucking her against her side, and hangs the collar up someplace, randomly. She hustles out, keeping Lexa nestled against her, and bundles them back into the car, pausing to buckle Lexa’s seat belt and tuck her legs into the footwell before rushing to the driver’s side. “Shit,” she mutters, hands tight around the steering wheel until her knuckles creak. “Sorry.”

Lexa blinks twice and then relaxes. She even quirks a hint of a smile, amused. “Oh?”

“Don’t be cheeky,” Clarke mutters. “I got carried away, too much.” She rubs at her nose. “Sorry.”

Lexa settles down into her seat. “Garlic knots?” she asks, hopeful, and Clarke rolls her eyes. 

“Only if you promise not to complain.”

“Nope,” Lexa says cheerfully, and flips the radio on.

++

Clarke’s just come off a fifty hour shift, her second in a week, and just barely manages to stumble into the cramped on call room, her eyes crossing. She meant to text Lexa earlier, but it’s much, much too late to hope for that level of coordination now so she just faceplants, ungainly, into a cot and passes out.

 

“Clarke,” someone murmurs an indeterminable amount of time later. Clarke doesn't know how long she’s been asleep, but she does know her alarm hasn’t gone off yet. 

“I’ll kill you,” she threatens, completely serious. “Slow. Painful.”

“And then who would bring you food and clean underwear and kiss your unbrushed teeth?”

Clarke opens her eyes as much as she can, squinted from exhaustion. “Lex?”

Lexa arches an eyebrow. “Is there another option?”

“Natalie Dormer,” Clarke tells her, completely serious. “If this is, in fact, a delirious fever dream. Which it is, because you’re supposed to be in our bed, sleeping.” Lexa’s palm presses against her forehead and Clarke swats at it. “Stop it, you know it’s an expression, I’m not sick. You should be at home.”

“Missed my girl,” Lexa says, and kisses her softly. She puts a paper bag down on the ground. “Food, clothes, those chocolate mints you like. Go back to sleep.”

“My girl,” Clarke repeats. She yawns so hard her jaw cracks. Lexa pushes her prone, gentle, and tucks the scratchy blanket up under her chin. Clarke doesn’t remember falling back asleep.

++

“I know,” Clarke says, bursting into their apartment. “I’m the worst.”

Lexa looks up from the table, spread out with papers and books and notes. “Oh?”

Clarke looks at the tree in the corner, small but neatly decorated. “You’re the worst!” She points, indignant.

“I left the lights for you to do,” Lexa says, nudging her glasses back up her nose.

“Seductress,” Clarke accuses.

“I’ve told you before, I need them to see. It doesn’t count as seduction.”

“I’m too tired to be turned on. Take them off.” Clarke flops on the couch and picks at the laces of her shoes before shrugging and listing sideways.

“Just pretend I’ve taken them off.”

“You’re still wearing them,” Clarke mumbles into the cushion. “I can tell.”

“Go to bed, Clarke.”

“No. I’m going to die right on this couch in front of--” Clarke squints at the television. “--the Yule Log? Seriously?” Lexa makes a noncommittal noise. “And you’ll have to think of me, rotting, every time you wear your glasses.”

“Ssh,” Lexa says absently, “this is the best part of the Yule Log.”

Clarke fidgets, pouting, and it’s only a few seconds before Lexa kneels in front of her, tugging off her shoes and helping her out of her jacket. “Lexa,” Clarke sighs. “I missed you. I’m sorry I’ve had to work so much.”

Lexa kisses her. “If you got to bed,” she tempts, “I’ll let you have one of your presents.”

Clarke perks up. “Really?” She narrows her eyes. “Why. You’re anal about the presents, not until Christmas morning, not until after a shower, not until you've had coffee.”

“Go to bed,” Lexa says, encouraging, “I’ll bring it in.”

 

Clarke levers herself up with a sigh, yanking her scrub top over her head and tripping as she walks down the hall and kicks off her pants at the same time. She sits on the edge of the bed and yawns. She closes her eyes for just a second, she thinks, just a few seconds, a blink, and when she opens them Lexa is kneeling in front of her. Her legs are folded, tucked under her, her feet flat against the ground, her weight not quite resting on them. She’s naked, beautifully tanned skin and eyes darkly lined to highlight the smoky bright green-grey of her eyes, cast down at the floor; her hair is in a perfect tumble of curls down her back, braided away from her face, and the leather collar Clarke bought two weeks ago and hid under the bed in a paper bag is buckled firm across her throat. 

Clarke chokes, her mouth dry. Lexa’s eyes dart to hers, then dip away, demure. She tilts her head to the side, baring the long column of her neck. Clarke slides forward to brace her feet on the floor, leaning towards her. Lexa’s still a few feet away, out of reach. “I was going to buy you a box,” Clarke says, rough. “I thought--green, maybe, to match your eyes. Blue, to match mine. Something expensive looking, that crushed velvet shit to line it.” Lexa shivers, still looking at the floor. Clarke lowers her voice, tries to make it smooth, but it cranks out of her throat, impossibly low, incredibly aroused. “Come here, baby.”

Lexa hesitates. She trembles. 

“Pretty girl,” Clarke murmurs, pitched to carry. “Look at you, all dolled up, so perfect. Spread those pretty legs for me.” Lexa tips her body back, supporting herself with her hands braced behind her, and slides her knees apart, just enough. “Look at you,” Clarke continues, unable to pull her eyes away, Lexa gleaming all down her thighs, spread open like a flower. “Dripping. Did you get wet while you waited for me? Didn’t even try to wake me up, just knelt like a good girl should, waiting. Would you have waited all night, if I’d fallen asleep? Your knees hurting, your back stiff. For me? I hope so…” She growls a little, just a rumbling in her chest, and Lexa falls forward, her palms slapping the floor, on her hands and knees. “My girl. My good girl. Come here.”

Lexa exhales, somehow slow even as her chest heaves. She rolls her body forward, incredibly slow, and Clarke’s breath freezes when she crawls across their bedroom carpet, her spine arched, her head bowed, her knees dragging in the carpet. She stops in the crook of Clarke’s legs, and sits back on her haunches. Clarke rests a hand in her hair and Lexa lolls into the inside of her knee, eyes closed.

“Baby,” Clarke croons, scritching her nails across Lexa’s scalp. “I’m so sorry, pretty girl. Been too busy. Been neglecting you.” She thinks it’s been three weeks since they’ve had sex, Clarke pushing hard at her job, new responsibilities, Lexa angling for a minor promotion. Too many nights apart, Clarke crashing at the hospital or Lexa passing out on the couch. Far too long since they’ve done any playing. “That why you didn’t put your present back when you found where I’d hidden it?” She exhales, so tired she can feel it in her bones. “I’m exhausted,” she mutters, guilty.

Lexa’s face creases, slightly. Her mouth opens and Clarke slips in four fingers, stretching her jaw wide, wiggling and tugging until Lexa’s face is slack and open, spit stringing at the corners of her mouth. She mumbles something around them, tongue flicking across Clarke’s skin. Clarke pulls them out after another minute, slick and messy, and wraps her hand around Lexa’s throat. “Tomorrow,” she promises, thumbing the collar while she squeezes. “Can you wait for me, baby?”

Lexa nods, jerky, and Clarke draws her up, tucking her under the sheets. She puts a hand at the buckle of the collar and Lexa whines, protesting. Clarke feels a thrum of desire her lack of sleep can’t stamp out, and she staggers to the bathroom to pee. When she comes out, her eyes dragging, Lexa is curled in the middle of their bed, the sheet pooled around her waist, her hands tucked against her bare chest. She’s breathing soft, and even, her hair spread out like a halo on the pillow, the collar glinting at her throat, and Clarke slides in beside her, crowding close to dip her head, smell the leather. She hooks a finger in the collar, just loose enough, and enjoys the stretch of it against her skin, pulling it tight against Lexa’s throat. Lexa murmurs, stirring, and Clarke kisses her, just above the loop.

++

Clarke wakes Lexa by biting bruises around her collar, on the underside, not stopping even though Lexa wakes on the third, until there’s a second ring of red just below the leather, slowly blooming to black and blue. “So good,” she praises when she’s done. “Hands.”

Lexa reaches up immediately, gripping the bedframe tight. She’s shaky, but she arches into Clarke’s teeth, her hands, and makes a soft noise when Clarke pulls the sheet away, leaving them both naked. “S’good,” she breathes. “Thank you.”

“I got something, while you were sleeping.” Clarke picks it up from where she’d left it on the edge of the mattress. It’s a scarf, thin but strong and long enough that she can fold, layering. She’d tested it in the bathroom. “Okay, baby?” Lexa licks her lips. She nods. Clarke winds it around her face, careful, and knots it behind her head. She adjusts it over Lexa’s eyes, checks the fit. “Color.”

Lexa breathes for a moment. Her fingers move on the metal frame, sliding before stilling. “Green.”

Clarke lays across Lexa’s body, pressing their chests together and shivering as their nipples brush, press, pebble. She leans them together, then slides down until she’s pressed against Lexa’s hipbones. “Legs,” she murmurs, and Lexa’s drape around her, her feet hooking against Clarke’s back, just above her ass. “Good girl.” 

Lexa shivers. She strains her head back, baring the collar and the loop of bruises, Clarke’s teethmarks dug deep. “Please,” she whispers through dry lips. 

“Sshh,” Clarke says. “No talking, unless you need a color. I just want you to listen.” Lexa nods, jerky, and Clarke kisses her gently until she yields, settling against the mattress. Clarke drags her nails down Lexa’s throat, turning the collar around until the buckle faces her. “You know what I love about you,” she murmurs, bent so her lips brush Lexa’s ear when she talks. “It’s how beautiful you are.” She twitches her hips up, minute, then presses down hard. “Inside and out.”

Lexa sucks in a breath, hard. She twists, sideways, then settles. 

“I love to feel you wet against me. Because of me.” Clarke licks across her jaw, broad, wet. Lexa’s skin glistens when she’s done. “Love when we’re here, in our place, ours. Home. And I can take care of you.” She grinds down in small, slow circles. “And you’re my good girl.” Lexa whines, face scrunched; Clarke can feel her, slick and wet and burning. “Color?”

“Green,” Lexa pants, nodding. “Your good girl,” she repeats, and Clarke wishes, briefly, that she could see Lexa’s eyes go dreamy and glazed, almost distant.

“Good.” Clarke bites under her jaw, adding another dark mark. “You’re so sexy, baby, look at you. All spread out pretty for me, slept all night in your collar. My collar. Next time I want to be the one to put it on you.” She slips the strap free and nudges the metal out of the way, loosening it. Lexa starts to freeze up, protesting with a soft noise, but Clarke shushes her. “Want to slip this around your neck when the buckle’s still cold, see you shiver. Watch you go under while I slide it just tight enough.” She pulls it tighter, gentle pressure, her weight on her elbow. “Can you take a little more, good girl? I think you can. Show me Red.”

Lexa flashes three fingers, on each hand, then winds them back around the framework. 

Clarke tightens the strap, slow, and holds. “My girl, my good girl. I love kissing you: your mouth, your tongue, your cunt. So pretty, so flushed, soft like silk and clenched up around me when you make those sweet noises.” She releases and Lexa sucks in air, gasping. Clarke tightens the strap again. She keeps grinding against Lexa, slow and steady. “I love every inch of you. Your legs, your toes, your little ears. Your pretty eyes, the way they change. I love them grey and green, but my favorite--” Lexa jerks against her, her legs dipping as her body fights for air, instinctive. “--is when they go black, when I fuck into you, make my good girl feel good.” She eases the pressure around Lexa’s neck long enough for a single breath, then jerks it tight, unmerciful. “When you crawled to me,” she says, speeding up despite herself, fucking Lexa hard against the mattress, “god, when you crawled to me. Did you like it? Next time I could hook a leash to you, walk you around like my good dog.” Lexa spasms; she makes a desperate wheezing noise, begging. Clarke checks her hands, still curled tight except for a single index finger on each hand, straight up. _Yellow_. Clarke taps Lexa’s collarbone, acknowledging. She stills. 

“Pet you all over,” she says, soft again, and Lexa’s hand softens back into a fist, closed, “nails against your scalp, leash draping. Feed you from my hand while you kneel at my feet.” She releases Lexa’s throat, sudden.

Lexa shudders, arching hard and shaking, wheezing. She coughs once, harsh. Clarke murmurs into her ear, _beautiful, gorgeous, perfect, my everything_ , until Lexa’s chest stops spasming. “Feels good, right baby?” She thrusts, sharp, and Lexa moans, helpless. “Can’t see anything--you can just feel me, against you, on top of you. Listen to me. Do you feel floaty, pretty girl?” Lexa cries out, keening, and Clarke cuts off her air one final time. “You’ll feel this all day; my marks on you, the rasp in your voice. Feels good, doesn’t it?” Lexa jerks up, pushing against Clarke’s body, desperate. “Come for me.” Lexa’s jaw works, stuck open in a continuous groaning noise, her body twitching erratically. “Baby, come for me.”

Lexa screams, hoarse and choked off, and Clarke slips the collar loose and off, tossing it aside to sink her teeth into Lexa’s throat as she comes; shuddering, sobbing, undone. “Good girl,” Clarke whispers, after Lexa’s calmed a little, carefully taking her limp hands from where they’re still curled and tucking them gently down. Lexa’s legs fall to the bed with twin thumps, and she’s shivery still, trembling; Clarke wraps her up and cuddles her close, murmuring as Lexa presses close, touch starved and desperate for affection the way she is when she comes down hard. 

“Clarke,” Lexa says, her voice wrecked. She licks at her lips. 

“I got you,” Clarke says. She undoes the scarf and Lexa blinks against the light, rapid. “Hey there, pretty girl.”

Lexa smiles at her, dopey and wide. “I love you,” she says, worming into Clarke’s embrace.

Clarke rolls them in a blanket, to make Lexa giggle, loose and affectionate, and to bundle them up warm and cozy, Lexa’s sweat on her skin, the smell of sex lingering. “I love you,” she says, and they kiss, lazy.

**Author's Note:**

> well my new job starts in earnest this week so expect productivity to drop, if not completely disappear. Plus I have some less sinbin fic going on as well.
> 
> catch me on tumblr @ feeltripping, I work odd hours but I love talking to you guys :)


End file.
